End & Future
by Iced Perfection
Summary: Hester has returned again to her cottage in the woods long after her departure from the village in an attempt to hide her sin. What she finds is little more than memories and misplaced nostalgia. She is left with nothing: not Pearl, not her beauty...


Wrote this for a school assignment where we had to write a continuation of sorts or part of the story in our own words for our midterm. I think it turned out pretty good. I had a lot of fun with this - Hester's "fall-from-grace" is so fun to write in character, as well as what may have happened to Pearl... Partly in first person and partly in third. Lots of view switching. But I got a 100 for it. Yay.

-_Icy_

* * *

><p><span>End &amp; Future<span>

_I remember seeing the burning scarlet letter on his chest—before, the only place I had seen it was on my chest, and no other's. I cannot blame Arthur for anything that happened between us, nor the events that came from it. Just as Roger cannot blame me for my actions, I cannot blame Arthur for his._

_Both of us knew it to be wrong, a sin, a crime against God._

_We also knew it to be a sin against ourselves._

_But we fell to temptation, and we paid for it with secrecy, guilt, and lies._

* * *

><p>She looked up from the path, the hood of her cloak slipping down on her shoulders as she took in the familiar sight of the forest: The sighing, sorrowful brook across which a child had found herself unable to recognize her own mother; the great, sturdy trees in which the girl had run between as animals made a path for her; the plants that had always been growing along the path as if to lead the way. It was just like she remembered.<p>

Last time, though, she hadn't been alone—where had the little elf-child gone? Disappeared, it seemed, stolen away from her mother by the forest or another sort of magic.

But she knew this was not so. Her Pearl—_her_ Pearl, _her_ treasure—had not disappeared; not had she become as wild as told in the equally-wild rumors flying about the town. After the three had stood together on the scaffold, hand in hand—a life leaving one of them as the world looked on with disbelief—two of the trio had left, taking a ship to another world in which they hoped to erase the past and start anew.

* * *

><p><em>What I had forgotten was the power of the letter. It bound me to my guilt, my sin, and it continues to do so. I cannot escape its pull, and will never be able to. It is something I must live with for the rest of my life.<em>

_When we left our home, I had imagined a wonderful life waiting for us that we could live once we reached land again, spending time on the ship dreaming, waiting, hoping._

_My dreams, however, proved false once we arrived. I realized that I could not merely run from my past and expect to be freed from it. I was trapped—caged in this new world and still unable to escape my guilt._

_Pearl, however, seemed to be more able to let go of what had happened and adapted to her new environment easier than I, though I noticed that she seemed a bit lost at first amongst the towering buildings that would replace her beloved forest. During the trip I had begun to notice a change in her, subtle at first, but eventually, it became evident that she was losing all the powers granted to her at birth: She was no longer an elf-child. My Pearl had changed. She had lost touch with nature, lost her spirit of vivacity. She was lost, to me, a different child in my eyes than the one I had raised in our little cottage by the sea in those great woods._

_This proved to be beneficial, though, since she was able to make friends easily. I suppose it was easier than before as the children knew nothing about her past or her mother's. We were normal, to them—as normal as I had wanted to be. No news of scandal or sin running about town. No rumors surrounding me and my letter._

_But it hadn't been enough._

* * *

><p>It was still there, the same as it had been when they had left. Nothing had changed, save for the amount of weeds growing beneath the window. Vines had crept up the sides of the house, but it was just as she remembered otherwise.<p>

She heard a rustling behind her. Turning, she saw nothing, though felt there were others in the woods other than herself. She smiled a bit, suddenly wondering if her story had withstood the test of time and was still alive after all those years.

Though she had forgotten to lock the door so many years before, it hadn't been touched. It was if a barrier surrounded the house, preventing any and all from entering. Another rustle of leaves came from behind her, this time followed by a quiet laugh. As the sound reverberated in her ear, she suddenly felt a tug at her heart, the noise reminding her of Pearl and how her daughter was no longer with her.

She pushed open the door, a slight gust of wind blowing some of the dust off the floor, leaves dancing with it as it was blown out the door. She paused for a moment, turning, as if to make sure she wasn't dreaming and she was really standing on her own doorstep again. She seemed to be hoping she would find Pearl running between the trees, ready to come home. When she heard and saw nothing, she slowly turned back and headed inside the small cottage.

* * *

><p><em>I don't know how many years that cottage had been left empty. I had lost track of the time not long after leaving, intending to forget anything that could remind us of our past.<em>

_Pearl, only a child then, was able to forget everything from her past. Her change seemed to impact her memories as much as her personality._

* * *

><p>Her slightly shaking hands brushed the hard surface of the table, dust flying into the air. This was where she had spent countless nights staying up late, sewing, cutting, measuring, sewing: All for those she felt were less fortunate than her, making clothes constantly in an attempt to redeem herself for the sin she had committed.<p>

As she examined the small cottage, eyes sweeping every inch of the place, she began to wonder why she had left in the first place. Why hadn't she stayed? She had been made nearly famous by her tale's end—the conclusion written by Arthur Dimmesdale's death—and could now live without the persecution she had received from the others in the town before his death.

She suddenly remembered, the pain of the letter striking her heart. It had been because of them that she had left—all those women, especially, the ones who had so cruelly insulted her on the day she was released from her confines in prison.

But when she passed the rosebush, she had glanced over to it, briefly, reminded of the hope that she still had, and that she had to remain strong. The rose showed a strange resilience for the spot where it grew—almost right next to the prison. It was like her, in a way: it was blessed with beauty, but that blessing became a curse, dragging her down and adding fuel to the fire of insults hurled at her by the women; thorns, for protection, though there was always a way to get around them, and a way to cut them down. She was beautiful—her reflection acknowledged that often—but that beauty was a curse that was her ultimate demise.

* * *

><p><em>I never asked to be beautiful.<em>

_My beauty was a kind that my mother called "a dark beauty," a kind that she believed was strange and mysterious but would lead to my downfall, in some way. I never believed her, instead feeding the beauty and allowing it to take over me as the years went on._

_So when I met Arthur, of course, he was powerless to my beauty, regardless of the fact he was a man of the church—a man of God._

_I was overcome by the taste of power, but I soon realized that I was losing control over it: it was carrying me away to a place I had little desire to go to, and I had no say in whether it let me go or held me tight. The temptation was beckoning: I had only to say "yes" and I would fall into the darkness of sin. The opportunity was ripe—I needed only to take it, and he would be mine._

_Going against God and the church was not something I wanted to do, but at the time there was little going through my mind, save for the thought of being with him. And after everything was over—after all those dreary months had passed when I had paid for my sin (and his, simultaneously)—I was free again, but had little idea of what had happened._

_And when I tried to make everything right again, and regain control of my life, I found that things had changed. No longer was I the envy of all the women: now, I was the target of their scorn and insults. No longer was I desired by the men: now, I was tainted and sinful._

_But life went on, though I had lost touch with the beauty that had originally cursed me. I was able to live with Pearl, alone, for a while, until the subject of our unfaithfulness was brought up again, and this time it was Roger who was the interested party. He knew I had been unfaithful to him, and my beauty had been easy for men to succumb to, but still blamed me._

* * *

><p>She glanced, once, in the mirror, a flash of beauty overtaking the now-gray haired woman's face, though she quickly averted her gaze as not to be tempted again. She took the round mirror off the wall, laying it on the table, reflective side down. She had no desire to see herself again, the dusky vision of her beauty lost in her mind as she tried to forget. Her reflection was lost.<p>

On her bedside table was a vase with a dried rose in it. Before she had left, she remembered it had been picked by Pearl for her. A beautiful red on, similar to those growing near the prison. But over the years it had lost its beauty, colors fading with time and sapped by the lack of nourishment she could have provided if she had stayed. However, the dried petals had withstood time, the faded reddish-brown color contrasting the white dust that covered much of the cottage. She walked over and picked it up, twirling the stem between her fingers. A single petal dropped, broken, landing next to her foot. She dropped the whole flower, stepping on it as she turned back to the window that looked out in the forest. She would not be tempted by her own beauty again.

Opening the fragile glass window, she brushed dust off the windowsill that had begun to fade in color and was fraying, splinters of the wood flaking off as she pulled her hand back. The image of his face suddenly flashed in her mind, startling her.

* * *

><p><em>You plague my beautiful thoughts. You will not let me alone. You, who tempted me, will never leave. It was my beauty and the moonlight that overthrew you, the combined powers mixing at night when you first saw me, when you were first tempted. But when you realized how unattainable I was—married—and you remembered who you were—a man of the church—it seemed impossible to be together. You managed to bypass your own morals, however, and we both paid for it: me, with my honor; you, with your life.<em>

_I suppose that is what God has decided is best. He took away that which tempted you: my beauty. But he took that which tempted me: _you_._


End file.
